They arrived home right at six o’clock.
Xiao Xiao darted off to pour kibble for Xiao Hei, while the black cat meowed nonstop as it followed close behind her.
No kibble!
But Xiao Xiao couldn’t understand a word of that feline protest, and responded as if they were speaking the same language: “Hold on, hold on—it’s coming!”
“Meow-wr—meow!”
Dong Zi glanced at the clock. “We spent about eight hours inside that instance.”
They’d entered the game world around 8 a.m., and although it felt like they’d spent nearly three days in there, judging by the time, the in-game flow ratio was roughly 7:1 compared to reality.
“That’s manageable. At least the time compression won’t mess up our real lives too badly. As long as we clear the instance quickly, we’ll be fine.”
Fu Changxun checked the missed calls on his phone and began returning them one by one to his patients. After he finished, he sighed. “Imagine if we got stuck in one of those long instances, and the flow rate was 1:1. When we got back, we’d be totally out of sync with the real world.”
He’d already heard the black cat meowing nonstop, so he headed into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out some chicken breast.
Dong Zi followed behind, watching him deftly slice the meat and start steaming it.
“You—”
“Hang on, let me make dinner for Xiao Hei first.”
Dong Zi tried several times to speak, but each time, Fu Changxun cut him off with impeccable timing, as if by accident.
Once the cat food was ready, Xiao Hei instantly abandoned its sad-looking kibble, rubbing enthusiastically against Fu Changxun’s leg and leaving a whole swath of black fur clinging to his pants. “Mrrr…”
Fu Changxun chuckled. “What a greedy little rascal. You even changed your tone to sweet-talk me.”
The black cat, now with a bizarrely high-pitched voice: “…Meow-meow.”
Dong Zi finally understood—Fu Changxun had known exactly what he wanted to say and was deliberately stalling with distractions.
So when the black cat was fully immersed in devouring its chicken and egg yolk dinner, Dong Zi stepped in close—so fast Fu Changxun didn’t even have time to retreat—and caged him in with both arms against the counter.
“The instance is cleared now. Don’t you think… it’s time you gave me an answer?”
Fu Changxun: “…”
If it’s meant to be, it’ll come. If it’s not… you can’t run from it forever.
He hesitated. “Um…”
Xiao Xiao, who was playing with Xiao Hei, saw the scene and froze with wide eyes. Then she scooped up the cat and bolted.
“See no evil, see no evil!”
The little girl zipped into the bedroom and slammed the door with excessive drama.
Halfway through its meal, the black cat yowled and struggled. “Mrowr! Hiss!!”
My food!!
So Xiao Xiao charged back out, eyes tightly shut, grabbed the food bowl, and retreated to the bedroom again, slamming the door a second time.
Thanks to her comedic interruption, the air of tension around Dong Zi evaporated without a trace.
He slowly lowered his arms and said quietly, “So you really can’t give me an answer? It’s okay if you want to say no.”
After all these years, a few more wouldn’t hurt. They were teammates now—perfectly in sync.
Dong Zi knew Fu Changxun. He wouldn’t let personal feelings interfere with the bigger picture. He wouldn’t let a rejection ruin their trust. At worst, he’d feel a little guilty.
And that guilt… was all Dong Zi really wanted.
“I… I’m sorry. I haven’t fallen for you. I can’t lie to you.”
Fu Changxun kept his head down as he spoke, clearly afraid to meet Dong Zi’s eyes. There was no visible expression on his face, but it was obvious he felt exactly as Dong Zi had predicted—ashamed, apologetic.
He couldn’t control his feelings. Back when he dated Lu Qi, he thought he liked him. He treated him well. But when Lu Qi asked to break up, he hadn’t felt a thing.
That’s when he realized… maybe he’d never really loved him at all.
Psychology had a few terms for this: mistaken attraction, the “suspension bridge effect” under stress, projection of ideal love, emotional overdependence…
Fu Changxun wasn’t sure which applied to him. But he had to admit, maybe he’d never truly loved anyone.
He couldn’t say yes to Dong Zi just because of some post-instance adrenaline high. That wouldn’t be fair—to either of them.
“It’s okay. Really.” Dong Zi let him go, looking fragile but calm. “It’s fine. I can wait for you. I’ll wait until you say yes.”
Fu Changxun felt his guilt deepen.
Dong Zi, who was always the tough guy, suddenly looked so vulnerable—it was hard not to be moved.
He fled into the kitchen and threw himself into cooking, his mind in turmoil.
Threads of old forum posts floated through his head:
“I thought we were bros, and now he wants to sleep with me?”
“Help! My best friend confessed to me!”
“How do I avoid accidentally becoming a couple with my friend?”
His thoughts spiraled wildly—until—
“Shit!”
The kitchen knife came down and nicked his index finger, blood welling up instantly from the cut.
Before he could even drop the knife, Dong Zi, who’d clearly been watching him like a hawk from the living room, rushed in, grabbed his hand, and—without hesitation—brought his finger to his mouth and sucked the wound.
Fu Changxun: “…!”
What the hell kind of stalker move was that?! There were band-aids in the living room. Gauze, even!
But Dong Zi looked completely unfazed, cool as ever. “Let me patch that up. I’ll cook tonight. You go rest.”
Fu Changxun had no idea what face to make in response. And then it hit him—they still had to share a bed tonight.
One bed.
Just thinking about it made his scalp tingle.
While he was lost in thought, Dong Zi had already stuck a waterproof band-aid on the cut and walked into the kitchen to take over.
From the living room, Fu Changxun could see him clearly—chopping vegetables, calm and collected—standing squarely in the most strategic position in the entire house.
Fu Changxun let out a long breath and, with his uninjured right hand, quickly opened his phone. He carefully considered his wording before anonymously posting to the forum for advice:
[Urgent! I recently reunited with a close friend from years ago, and he just confessed to me—what do I do?!]
The moment he refreshed the page, a flood of replies came pouring in:
[Fishing for replies?]
[Bro… OP’s a guy, right?]
[If this is real—dude, the world’s ending and this is what you’re worried about?]
[Pfft, what world’s ending nonsense—take it back, take it back. There’s still hope! But seriously though, life’s unpredictable lately. OP, are you straight? If not, just say yes. Hell, even if you’re not sure, give it a shot!]
[LMAO, I didn’t realize so many people still lurk on the forum. I thought everyone got pulled into the game by now.]
[Sigh, just got out of an instance. Absolute nightmare—ten players went in, only four made it out.]
[Terrified. I haven’t been chosen yet, but if I get pulled in, I’m 100% cannon fodder. If it’s a zombie instance, I’m probably gonna be the one doing the biting.]
[Sounds like you need therapy. My last instance was a zombie one. Now every time I close my eyes, it’s just undead everywhere. Problem is, I can’t find a therapist anymore.]
That last comment triggered Fu Changxun’s professional reflex. He couldn’t help but reply:
[I’m a psychologist. Feel free to reach out to me.]
[??? No way, seriously?]
[Damn, a psychologist posting about his own emotional crisis and asking us for help?]
[Man, where is this thread even going anymore? OP, you’re a psychologist—so you’re probably not homophobic. Why can’t you just say yes to your friend?]
[Exactly. Bet your friend’s just scared shitless that the next instance might kill him. Figured he’d better shoot his shot while you’re both still alive.]
[He probably thought… if he died without telling you he loved you, you’d never know. That’s actually kind of heartbreaking.]
[Honestly? If I had someone like that in my life, I’d say yes on the spot.]
The responses were getting more and more off the rails, so Fu Changxun quickly replied:
[No, it’s not like that. We’ve already been in instances. We have decent point totals and can survive on our own.]
[Humblebrag much, OP?!]
[Worshipping the boss! ]
A whole string of “worshipping the boss” followed. Not one useful comment among them.
He frowned and kept scrolling—until one post, from someone claiming to be a “relationship expert,” finally caught his eye:
[Wow, a real pro. Judging from how you talk, I’d guess you’ve cleared three or four instances already. Then yeah, no need to stress too much. When it comes to feelings… the best answer is still your own.
I think your friend might’ve liked you for a long time—back when you thought you were just bros. Unrequited love can twist people a bit. Even after rejection, he might cling to you. And even if he can’t get you in everyday life, he’ll try to stay in your team during instances.
So the real question is: how do you feel? What do you see him as?
If you feel comfortable, why not give it a shot? These days, even married couples just go with what feels “right enough.”]
That last comment did manage to ease Fu Changxun’s mind a little.
He spent 20 points to buy a “Physical Defense Shield”—a one-time-use item that blocks non-lethal physical damage—got the expert’s shipping info, and mailed it over.
[Relationship Expert: Whoa, what a surprise! Thanks for the gift! Let me know if you ever need to talk again!]
[Fu Changxun: OK.]
He closed his phone and, with a completely neutral expression, called out to Xiao Xiao for dinner. Afterward, he washed up and went to bed.
But when he and Dong Zi lay down—side by side, perfectly rigid—they enacted the sacred rule of “if I’m not embarrassed, it’s you who’ll be embarrassed.” The space between them might as well have been a river across enemy lines.
I mean, come on—they had just gone through a failed confession. There’s no way things weren’t at least a little awkward.
In the days that followed, they tried their best to go back to normal: eating, drinking, walking Xiao Xiao to school, training when they had to.
The best news during that time? Fu Changxun’s stamina stat had finally climbed to 43—a normal level for an average person. That alone was worth celebrating.
But oddly enough, that just made him more anxious.
On the tenth day—despite having over half of their 30-day break left—he couldn’t hold it in anymore and said to the team at the Special Affairs Office, “Let’s enter another instance. We need to train.”
Qiu Yi and Lulu said in unison: “Huh?”
Even Song Zhenpeng looked surprised. “Already? Didn’t you guys just finish one?”
Fu Changxun responded with the righteousness of a soldier preparing for war: “We must stay vigilant in times of peace. More instances mean more practice. If we go too long without one, we lose our edge—and then we won’t even survive the next instance, let alone protect innocent civilians!”
Everyone stared at him, eyes wide with awe. No one had expected his ideological resolve to be so high.
Immediately, hands shot up all around the room. Everyone wanted to join the next instance with him.
Everyone… except Dong Zi, who gave him a long, strange look.
Fu Changxun felt a pang of guilt. He’d just wanted to lure Dong Zi into another instance, to see if the two of them were really “compatible.” He hadn’t meant to motivate the entire department.
Guess it was one of those cases where you plant a flower and it won’t bloom, but toss a willow branch and suddenly it’s a full-grown tree…
